Restoring trust in Bangladesh’s justice system cannot rely on symbolic gestures or sporadic policy directives. It requires deep institutional reform, writes Nafew Sajed Joy
IN A functioning democracy, the justice system exists to uphold truth, safeguard the innocent and ensure the guilty are held to account. Yet in Bangladesh, the courts are not reliably the sanctuary they were once believed to be. The proliferation of false and fabricated legal cases for control, revenge or coercion — signals not just institutional dysfunction, but a deeper erosion of moral and civic life. The law, once a protector, is too often reduced to a weapon — freely wielded by those who know how to bend its intent.
What makes this crisis all the more disturbing is its scale and its intimacy. False allegations do not merely produce legal irregularities — they wreak havoc on real lives. These are not statistics but people: fathers, sisters, neighbours, professionals, students. They are dragged into years-long legal entanglements by claims that ought never to have passed preliminary police scrutiny. As these cases multiply, especially during politically charged moments, what is exposed is not only a collapse in procedural rigour, but the fragile, conditional nature of legal protections themselves.
False charges, no longer rare or exceptional, are now routine instruments of power. Civil rights advocates have long warned of this quiet epidemic: groundless cases filed to settle vendettas, seize property, control inheritance, or silence criticism. The justice system, rather than defending citizens from arbitrary authority, is often harnessed to pursue it. From police reports to courtroom proceedings, each stage of the legal process is open to manipulation. Investigations are hastily undertaken, sometimes biased from the outset. Court summonses are issued without thorough examination. Justice, in these circumstances, is not merely denied — it is deliberately subverted.
The damage inflicted by such legal weaponisation is both immediate and enduring. Innocent individuals can spend months, even years, in pre-trial detention — cut off from their livelihoods, their communities, and often their families. Financially, the costs are ruinous. Legal representation must be secured, bail conditions met, and in some cases, properties sold just to fund a defence. Emotionally, the burden is even harder to quantify. Families endure social stigma, children are stigmatised in schools, and careers are irreparably harmed. And when acquittal eventually comes, it rarely brings full redemption. The stain remains, whispered about, never quite lifted.
This systemic rot is not without a history. It finds its roots in a colonial legal structure designed to suppress, not serve. Despite independence, many of its punitive features have persisted — and been repurposed. Over time, unchecked discretion within police forces, weak institutional accountability, and a broader culture of impunity have allowed false cases to multiply. During times of political transition or unrest, the trend worsens. Legal tools intended to ensure order are redirected towards eliminating rivals, stifling dissent, and asserting control.
The state is not unaware. In 2024, the Ministry of Home Affairs issued directives instructing law enforcement agencies to act against those filing intentionally false complaints. Yet implementation remains negligible. A report by a police-affiliated think tank found that in 42 per cent of proven false cases, no legal action was taken against the complainants. Often, such incidents are dismissed euphemistically as ‘misunderstandings’ or categorised under non-cognisable offences — cases that do not merit arrest without court approval. In effect, perpetrators face little to no consequence.
Journalists, activists, and opposition figures have all faced dubious charges under some widely abused laws. When political expression is policed through legal harassment, a democracy begins to hollow from within.
The cost is democratic as much as it is legal. An authoritarian drift becomes difficult to resist when the machinery of justice is easily exploited. Elections lose meaning when opposition leaders are silenced through litigation. Free speech becomes fraught when journalists are dragged into courtrooms under specious charges. Citizens begin to retreat from political engagement out of fear. Institutions, once compromised, cannot simply be restored by decree.
Restoring trust in Bangladesh’s justice system cannot rely on symbolic gestures or sporadic policy directives. It requires deep institutional reform. Judicial independence must be strengthened. Magistrates and judges need better training to assess prima facie evidence and dismiss unsubstantiated cases at the earliest stages. Law enforcement must be held accountable for misuse of arrest powers and investigative negligence. Most crucially, legal aid must be accessible and robust, ensuring no citizen is forced to navigate a Kafkaesque legal system without support.
At the political level, restraint is essential. Legal institutions must be insulated from party politics, and laws must not be written or enforced with an eye to silencing dissent. Civil society, too, has a role to play: monitoring court proceedings, advocating for reform and ensuring that abuses are brought into the public domain.
The people of Bangladesh deserve a justice system that protects them — not one that punishes the innocent to serve the powerful. False cases are not just a nuisance; they are a moral indictment of how the law is being misused. Those who suffer from such misuse pay not only with time and money but often with dignity and years of their lives. Meanwhile, true victims are discredited, their cases met with suspicion due to the high number of fabrications.
If this rot is to be arrested, measures must go beyond rhetoric. Existing provisions, which punishes false accusations, should be enforced. Complainants proven to have acted maliciously should face penalties commensurate with the harm inflicted. Compensation schemes for victims of false prosecution must be introduced. Pre-screening mechanisms for complaints, especially under broad and misused laws, must become standard procedure.
Until such reforms are embraced, the justice system in Bangladesh will remain deeply compromised. The longer this continues, the further we drift from the democratic ideals we claim to uphold. For when the law becomes a tool of intimidation rather than protection, the innocent are not the only ones who suffer.
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Nafew Sajed Joy is a writer and researcher.